Thursday, November 25, 2010

Letters to the Devil




The Curiosities of Letters
Whoosh, shut, thud
destiny floor bound
alone it lays
abandoned in the hall
one hurrying along 
stomps over it
leaving a brownish
foot print
on its white flesh
for hours it remains
untouched, unopened
accompanying it
a newspaper, smothers
one entering
picks up the loose pages
tosses it in a bin



it goes unread
as if it never existed
as if the intent was blatantly
covered by never being 
revealed
and what is known
is that it is never known
no matter how you put it
no matter how you put it
the words are silent.






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